Over the next three days, however, the mood of elation gradually faded. To Renthall’s annoyance no further date was fixed for the cancelled committee meeting. He had assumed that it would be held in camera, but the members must have realized that it would make little difference. Everyone would soon know that Renthall had successfully challenged their claim to be in communication with the watch-towers.

Renthall chafed at the possibility that the meeting had been postponed indefinitely. By avoiding a direct clash with Renthall the Council had cleverly side-stepped the danger before them.

Alternatively, Renthall speculated whether he had underestimated them. Perhaps they realized that the real target of his defiance was not the Council, but the watch-towers. The faint possibility — however hard he tried to dismiss it as childish fantasy the fear still persisted — that there was some mysterious collusion between the towers and the Council now began to grow in his mind. The fte had been cleverly conceived as an innocent gesture of defiance towards the towers, and it would be difficult to find something to take its place that would not be blatantly outrageous and stain him indelibly with the sin of hubris.

Besides, as he carefully reminded himself, he was not out to launch open rebellion. Originally he had reacted from a momentary feeling of pique, exasperated by the spectacle of the boredom and lethargy around him and the sullen fear with which everyone viewed the towers. There was no question of challenging their absolute authority — at least, not at this stage. He merely wanted to define the existential margins of their world — if they were caught in a trap, let them at least eat the cheese. Also, he calculated that it would take an affront of truly heroic scale to provoke any reaction from the watch-towers, and that a certain freedom by default was theirs, a small but valuable credit to their account built into the system.

In practical, existential terms this might well be considerable, so that the effective boundary between black and white, between good and evil, was drawn some distance from the theoretical boundary. This watershed was the penumbral zone where the majority of the quickening pleasures of life were to be found, and where Renthall was most at home. Mrs Osmond’s villa lay well within its territory, and Renthall would have liked to move himself over its margins. First, though, he would have to assess the extent of this ‘blue’ shift, or moral parallax, but by cancelling the committee meeting the Council had effectively forestalled him.

As he waited for Barnes to call again a growing sense of frustration came over him. The watch-towers seemed to fill the sky, and he drew the blinds irritably. On the flat roof, two floors above, a continuous light hammering sounded all day, but he shunned the streets and no longer went to the caf for his morning coffee.

Finally he climbed the stairs to the roof, through the doorway saw two carpenters working under Mulvaney’s supervision. They were laying a rough board floor over the tarred cement. As he shielded his eyes from the bright glare a third man came up the stairs behind him, carrying two sections of wooden railing.

‘Sorry about the noise, Mr Renthall,’ Mulvaney apologized. ‘We should be finished by tomorrow.’

‘What’s going on?’ Renthall asked. ‘Surely you’re not putting a sun garden here.’

‘That’s the idea.’ Mulvaney pointed to the railings. ‘A few chairs and umbrellas, be pleasant for the old folk. Dr Clifton suggested it.’ He peered down at Renthall, who was still hiding in the doorway. ‘You’ll have to bring a chair up here yourself, you look as if you could use a little sunshine.’

Renthall raised his eyes to the watch-tower almost directly over their heads. A pebble tossed underhand would easily have rebounded off the corrugated metal underside. The roof was completely exposed to the score of watch-towers hanging in the air around them, and he wondered whether Mulvaney was out of his mind — none of the old people would sit there for more than a second.

Mulvaney pointed to a roof-top on the other side of the garden, where similar activity was taking place. A bright yellow awning was being unfurled, and two seats were already occupied.

Renthall hesitated, lowering his voice. ‘But what about the watchtowers?’

‘The what—?’ Distracted by one of the carpenters, Mulvaney turned away for a moment, then rejoined him. ‘Yes, you’ll be able to watch everything going on from up here, Mr Renthall.’

Puzzled, Renthall made his way back to his room. Had Mulvaney misheard his question, or was this a fatuous attempt to provoke the towers? Renthall grimly visualized his responsibility if a whole series of petty acts of defiance took place. Perhaps he had accidentally tapped all the repressed resentment that had been accumulating for years?

To Renthall’s amazement, a succession of creaking ascents of the staircase the next morning announced the first party of residents to use the sun deck. Just before lunch Renthall went up to the roof, found a group of at least a dozen of the older guests sitting out below the watch-tower, placidly inhaling the cool air. None of them seemed in the least perturbed by the tower. At two or three points around the crescent sun-bathers had emerged, as if answering some deep latent call. People sat on makeshift porches or leaned from the sills, calling to each other.

Equally surprising was the failure of this upsurge of activity to be followed by any reaction from the watch-towers. Half-hidden behind his blinds, Renthall scrutinized the towers carefully, once caught what seemed to be a distant flicker of movement from an observation window half a mile away, but otherwise the towers remained silent, their long ranks receding to the horizon in all directions, motionless and enigmatic. The haze had thinned slightly, and the long shafts protruded further from the sky, their outlines darker and more vibrant.

Shortly before lunch Hanson interrupted his scrutiny. ‘Hello, Charles. Great news! The school opens tomorrow. Thank heaven for that, I was getting so bored I could hardly stand up straight.’

Renthall nodded. ‘Good. What’s galvanized them into life so suddenly?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose they had to reopen some time. Aren’t you pleased?’

‘Of course. Am I still on the staff?’

‘Naturally. The Council doesn’t bear childish grudges. They might have sacked you a week ago, but things are different now.’

‘What do you mean?’

Hanson scrutinized Renthall carefully. ‘I mean the school’s opened. What is the matter, Charles?’

Renthall went over to the window, his eyes roving along the lines of sun-bathers on the roofs. He waited a few seconds in case there was some sign of activity from the watch-towers.

‘When’s the Watch Committee going to hear my case?’

Hanson shrugged. ‘They won’t bother now. They know you’re a tougher proposition than some of the people they’ve been pushing around. Forget the whole thing.’

‘But I don’t want to forget it. I want the hearing to take place. Damn it, I deliberately invented the whole business of the fte to force them to show their hand. Now they’re furiously back-pedalling.’

‘Well, what of it? Relax, they have their difficulties too.’ He gave a laugh. ‘You never know, they’d probably be only too glad of an invitation now.’

‘They won’t get one. You know, I almost feel they’ve outwitted me. When the fte doesn’t take place everyone will assume I’ve given in to them.’

‘But it will take place. Haven’t you seen Boardman recently? He’s going great guns, obviously it’ll be a tremendous show. Be careful he doesn’t cut you out.’

Puzzled, Renthall turned from the window. ‘Do you mean Boardman’s going ahead with it?’

‘Of course. It looks like it anyway. He’s got a big marquee over the car park, dozens of stalls, bunting everywhere.’